


Observing

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mollcroft, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: Terrible summary!With eyes wide open they see the person in front of them; they observe them and getting a better understanding of their uniqueness.





	1. See You as a Man

**Author's Note:**

> I know for sure that I want to do 2 parts which has a general rating ... might go for a third part that will be either an M or E rating depending if people want it.

_You look but you do not observer_ , she can remember hearing Sherlock lament to John time after time, and all those times she can remember just rolling her eyes and thinking to herself the arrogance of his words.

However, now that she finally sees him; has observed him, she is now a firm believer in the notion of not just looking but observing.

If you were to ask her when she first started to see him; to really look at him and observe him as a man, she would be able to tell you to even the specific time of day.

It was a obscenely sunny, bright day, one where all you want to do is bask in the sunshine that cannot help but take all your woes away. However on this day, they were inside with the curtains firmly pulled shut to block out any and all light. The happy chirp of birds outside, replaced by the rise and fall of a respirator and the beep of a heart monitor. Sherlock has OD-ed again and they were both taking turns sitting vigil at his bed side; John having left hours ago to tend to his new family.

Her eyes were sleep blurred, too worried for their patient to really get any decent sleep. It was his turn to get some rest while she would wait and watch for any signs of Sherlock’s recovery. With a steaming mug of tea in hand, she stood in the doorway and silently observed the man within.

He was sitting slouched in the chair at his brother’s bedside; the files that he was working on discarded into a haphazard pile at his feet; he really must have been a combination of both over tired and worried, for he would never have left his things in such an untidy pile. His suite jacket having been long discarded and hung at the foot of the bed; his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Her eyes lingered on his forearms; the skin was pale, most likely not having seen the light of day too often; always hidden under the layers of his suites. They were lean, however she knew their hidden strengths as she all but saw the muscles pulled taunt and rippling as he carried his brother up to the make shift hospital room in his house. There was a fine dusting of auburn hair that glinted in the light; how she wished to reach out to run her fingers along his arm to find out if it felt as soft as it looked.

With that thought, she stopped short. What was she thinking, this was Sherlock’s big brother; scary Mr. British Government, but the way her eyes lingered on him, she could not deny that she had ever been more entranced by a man in her life, not even by Sherlock and his mesmerizing blue eyes and high cheek bones.

Oh yes, most definitely. She crooked her head to the side. Her eyes traveling up the rest of his body, only to jolt to a stop, her eyes widening. His tie hung loosely at his throat, the two top buttons of his shirt undone and gave her a very enticing view of smooth skin with a smattering of chest hair; who would have known. Licking her lips unconsciously, she wondered what it would feel like as it pressed and slid against her heated flesh.

Her eyes traveled up the long column of his neck, and her breath caught in her throat. There, just barely visible, short hairs graced his cheeks and jaw line. Mr. British Government was always so clean cut that the sight of the morning stubble along his jaw sent a thrill down her spine. She resisted the urge to reach out and brush the back of her hand and cradle his face in the palm of her hands. Images of her lips ghosting over his or the scratch of his stubble along the delicate skin of her inner thighs flashing before her minds eyes.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she dragged her eyes away from him in wonder. Where had these thoughts come from, this was Sherlock’s big brother for god’s sake, sneaking a quick peek at him once again, she shook her head minutely. Ah but now he wasn’t just Sherlock’s older brother, now she saw him as a man in his own right; one that was handsome and protective and intelligent and loyal; one that took her breath away not for who he represented, but rather for who he was.

Oh but she was just silly old Molly Hooper; the stuttering, nervous fan girl that no one took seriously. No one ever notices her; she didn’t matter.

Hoping that the low lighting in the room masks the blush staining her cheeks, she clears her throat softly so as not to startle him. His eyes blink open startled none the less and his head snaps towards her. Blinking his eyes a few times to chase away the fatigue, she saw the instant his guards went up and the relaxed vulnerability vanished from his frame.

Standing to acknowledge her presence, he straightened his tie, buttoned his shirt, and rolled his sleeves back down; the last bits of his armour firmly sliding into place.

“It’s my turn” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, explaining her presence.

“Only if you are certain Dr. Hooper, I do not wish to inconvenience you any more than we already have” he replied with his brow frowned not use to having another assist him with such a personal matter, and surprised with himself that he did not in fact mind.

“Molly, please” she said with a small shy smile. “I don’t mind at all, and I know you work so hard doing what you do and having to mind Sherlock as well. The least I can do is sit with him a while, while you rest” she said in earnest.

Letting a long breath out, he ran a tired hand across his eyes, it would be nice to rest his eyes, even for just a little while.

Giving her a tight smile he accepted her help, “Thank you Dr...” at her pointed look he corrected himself, “Thank you Molly this is most appreciated.”

He strides towards her and the door, stopping before he is out the door, he pauses considering his words.

“Sherlock surely does not realize the value and gift of your friendship” he says meeting her eyes.

He holds them just a moment longer before he turns to go, only to be stopped once again by a hand at his wrist.

His head swivels to face her; head crooked to the side with a quizzical look on his face, and she can’t help but think him adorable.

“Not just Sherlock” she says with feeling.

“I beg your pardon” he asks.

“My ... my friendship. It’s not just for Sherlock. For you too, that is if you’ll have it; if you want it” her words coming out rushed due to her shaking nerves.

“I almost forgot, here” she said thrusting the steaming cup of tea into his hands, “I thought that you might like a cup. I ... I mean ... well it always helps me to well...” she snapped her mouth shut, not wanting to embarrass herself further.

Looking down into the cup his critical eyes took in the dark liquid with a sliver of lemon floating at the top; just how he takes his tea.

He inclines his head in thanks “I am most grateful, thank you again Molly” he says softly, charmed and touched that she knew how he took his tea; that she noticed him enough to know. That she noticed him enough to want to be his friend.

“You’re welcome Mr. Holmes” she says with a bright smile, moving over the chair to settle in.

“Please” he says, “call me Mycroft” and before she can respond he is out the door.

Her eyes linger on the doorway even after he is gone; her minds eyes still seeing him framed in the doorway, still seeing the way his eyes flashed and glowed. It was most definitely his eyes; the way their blues swirled and flashed like a storm upon the ocean. _Oh yes_ , she could spend a lifetime drowning in their depths.

Dragging her eyes to the patient in the room, she let out a ragged sigh for the man in the bed before her. _Do you know? Do you even care what you do to him, what you put him through?_

 


	2. Chapter 2

The tea, however grateful he was, was not enough to sooth his frazzled nerves.  Sitting in his darkened office, he watched as the contents of his tumbler swing in neat circles, each time coming precariously close to spilling over the rim, before its swirl took it to the next side of the glass.

 _Siblings_ , he thought as he continued to watch the swirl of brandy in his glass. He had known from a young age that they would be trouble, and the past few day’s events just cemented the theory that he had long proved again and again. He could for all intents and purposes leave his siblings to their own devices and let the rest of the world learn to deal with them, but then Mummy would be so disappointed in him. But then again they were not his children who were using the world as their toy box; to play with and destroy as they saw fit, but then he sometimes wondered if his parents remembered that themselves.

An addicted sociopath, a crazed psychopath, and an introverted control freak; he shook his head lightly, what a fine bunch they made; and to think some people thought that he was the one that was … off. Just because he had an aversion to stupidity and thus the majority of the human race, did not mean that he was anywhere near the same level of crazy that his siblings displayed.

No matter how much he tried to help them, things just seemed to turn out worse. Maybe if he left them to their own devices for better or for worse, he would be able to live to a ripe old age, instead of dying a premature death due to stress or as a result of one of his siblings.

However as that thought ran through his head, the image of a weeping Molly Hopper flashed before his eyes. He knew that she would be utterly gutted at the notion of a dead, dead Sherlock; hell the image that came to his minds eyes was how upset she was when Sherlock faked his death, and he wasn’t even really dead! And for some reason that he could not fathom, the image of her distraught and brought to tears left him feeling uneasy and, dare he think it, protective of her; the need to enfold her into his arms and protect her from the harshness of the world.

He gave his drink a startled look. Protect?! Voluntary physical contact with a practical strange?! It must be the drink and the overtiredness talking he thought. But the mocking voice that sounded strangely similar to that of his younger brother, taunted “ _but she isn’t just a stranger anymore, is she?”_

Even unconscious, his brother still found ways to annoy him. With a scowl, he waved the notion of one Molly Hopper away to ponder about another time.

Standing, he stretched his arms above his head and heard the faint cracking sound of the pressure being dispelled from his back. Reaching down he took up his half-filled glass to take to the kitchen.

Not bothering to turn on the lights he takes the glass to the sink, he watches as the amber liquid circles down the drain, _oh well_ , he thought, _the PM owes me more favours than was decent_ , he was sure that he would be able to procure another bottle of brandy from him at a moment’s notice.

About to turn to trudge up the stairs to bed, he almost missed it with the lights off and his traitorous brother sing-songing in his head of Molly Hopper and K-I-S-S-I-N-G in trees; there on the counter was a sorry looking plate of scrambled eggs and toast with a bright pink sticky note attached.

His eyes focused on the sticky note, a crease appearing between his eyes; his tired mind not reconciling the bright pink that was in stark contrast to the dark marble of his counter tops. When it did not appear to vanish under his intense study, he picked up the note, instantly recognizing the distinctive script (i’s dotted with big bubbles and big looping letters).

_You have like no food in your whole house! How have you not starved to death?! It’s not much but it looks like you need to be taken care of too._

_Molly_

Placing the note to the side, he scrutinized the make shift meal; with a skeptical grimace he poked a finger at the scrambled eggs and watched as they jiggled. There was something oddly therapeutic about watching it ripple and sway. With one last flick to the meal, he turned and was about to scrape the meal into the bin when he heard light footsteps and humming coming down the stairs. 

Bounding into the room, Molly let out a surprised squeak, not expecting him to be standing in the middle of the kitchen, _but why wouldn’t he, it’s his kitchen_ flashed through her mind as she lost her footing and went skidding across the glossy kitchen floor; eyes shut tight awaiting the feel of the cold tiled floor.

His eyes widened almost comically at the sight of her flailing across his kitchen. Putting down the plate quickly with a clatter, he stepped towards her on instinct. With a grunt caught he caught her in his arms; his arms sliding around her waist, clasping at the small of her back, pulling her firmly against his body to steady her.  

When she did not immediately feel the cold unforgiving tiles under her, she tentatively peaked her eyes open, only to be met with the most stormy blue-grey eyes she had ever seen.

He had always dismissed the petite pathologist as rather plain and mousey, but at this distance, she was anything but. Her skin was pale and smooth, like polished porcelain. There was a fine dusting of freckles across her nose and along her cheekbones.  And her hair was the colour of dark cinnamon with golden thread woven through. But it was her eyes that drew him in and captivated him; that gave him the shock of falling but the thrill of flying. Her eyes reminded him of dark liquid chocolate; rich, warm, and inviting.

He stood stock still with her in his arms, studying the way her eyes changed in the light. Now he was not a man that was driven by his desires or fantasies by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something about her; something alluring and tempting that drew him to her. That called on his most primitive instincts to protect her, get to know her, pursue her, to make her his.

Molly stared up at him, her eyes blinking owlishly. The first thing that she noticed was the hard planes of his body pressed against hers; he felt just as solid and wonderful as she thought he would.

She was so close; he could pick up hints of citrus from her hair and could feel her hot breath against his cheek. It would be so easy to kiss her; to gently cup her cheek in his hand, to run his thumb along her pink lips to feel its softness, before sliding his hand through her hair cupping the back of her neck, tilts her chin up gently and capturing her lips in a sweet kiss.

His lips were so close to hers, but as the thought of _sweet_ flashed through his mind, startled so violently that he was the one that almost fell over. Hastily putting some distance between them, he cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, trying to figure out what this was; what was happening. He stared at her his brows frowned as the silence stretched on.

With cheeks flaming pink, Molly tried to look anywhere but at him as she tugged on the sleeve on her jumper over her fingers, trying to mask her fidgeting digits. She nervously worried her bottom lip between her teeth, sneaking a peek at him from beneath her lashes.

 _What was I thinking_ , she scolded herself mentally. _I just got him to call me by my first name and now it looks like I am trying to throw myself at him, stupid, stupid, stupid._

He watched her face as she had an internal argument with herself and he couldn’t help the small smile that quirked his lips. She was so animated; so alive. Her features told a story, her story; a story that he wouldn’t mind spending a lifetime discovering.

 _Oh shut up you idiot, you’re drunk. She is most likely mortified that you were imposing your person on, well her person... shut up and just shut up and do something to fix this... geeze to think we are the smart one, ugh you disgust me!_ He berated himself.

“Thank you” he blurted out, wanting to bang his head on the counter as he saw her practically jump out of her skin.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his sense of presence.

“Please forgive me my dear, I did not mean to startle you. What I meant was thank you for the meal that you prepared for me, it was not necessary, I have survived on much less” he said with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

Her brows frowned at his comment, not wanting to imagine some of the things that he might have had to experience because she knew that whatever she could think of would pale in comparison.

“It’s just that ... it’s just that you worry so much about other people that I sometimes worry that you don’t have any for yourself” she said a little shyly, her blush continuing to creep further up her neck.

 _She notices you_ his mind screamed at him excitedly.

The tenseness in his shoulders dropped, and he could feel himself letting down a bit of the guard he had built up over the years towards... people. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, his gaze fell to the floor, a soft smile playing on his lips, and the tops of his ears unmistakeably pink; he was touched and more than a little unsure what to do with this new piece of information.

He looked back up at her, his eyes soft. Molly’s eyes widened slightly at the sight and her breath caught in her throat; that look alone was enough to knock her breath from her and momentarily caused her to forget how to breathe.

A contemplative silence fell over the pair just standing in the middle of the kitchen; it was neither awkward nor tense. It was just a moment of contemplative clarity where they were both beginning to see the true person behind the masks.

A dull thud jarred them from their musings and both pairs of startled eyes looked up at the sound. In unison they both moved towards the doorway. However he was stopped shot but a slim hand on his chest. Looking down at the offending hand, his eyes searched hers out.

“Eat, sleep, rest... just don’t worry, I’ve got this” she told him firmly with a kind, caring smile.

He made to protest but she cut him off before he could speak.

“Please? Let me do this for you” she asked him, her voice hopeful and compassionate.

He gave a tired sigh, his hand running through his already mused hair. He was coming to a startling realization; he could stare down dictators, politicians, and the odd psychopath, but he was coming to realize that he was exponentially more difficult to do that with this petite woman, especially when she was looking at him like that, with her hand (unconsciously, consciously?) rubbing small circles on his chest.

He gave her a tight nod, not use to giving up control and/or care of his little brother to anyone.

She gave him a brilliant smile, and he couldn’t help but return a small one of his own. She lowered her hand from his chest to twine thing fingers together and gave his hand a brief squeeze. She was just about to turn to leave when his soft words stopped her.

“Thank you again, for coming when I called” he told her seriously.

“I will always come Mycroft. I mean that, and I don’t just mean for Sherlock either” she replied honestly. What one last squeeze of his hand she left the way she came to see if their patient was finally up.

Moving over to the breakfast bar towards the untouched food, he unceremoniously slumped into the chair, letting his head fall to the cool countertop with a thunk. Turing his face he eyes the jiggling mass on the plate and gave it one last flick before steeling his nerves enough to try it.

If he wasn’t such a gentleman he would have spat it out right there and then, but he managed to swallow down the one bit. _Ugh! Note to self do not allow Molly to cook our meals for us in the future; I will do that unless I want to die a slow painful death due to food poisoning._

 _Furutre?!_ His mind screeched at him, _you just started using her given name and you are already planning your future together?!_ The sing-singing voice of his annoying younger brother cut in, into his inner scolding, _first comes love then comes marriage ... well I don’t know what comes after that, I have insufficient data to be able to continue,_ mind Sherlock said with a shrug of his shoulders that indicated that he did not care, or care to know.

He shook his head to try and dispel the lecture that he was giving ... well himself; talking to one’s self was on the road to crazy, but then again crazy did run in his family.

He was going to need a cold shower and a very strong drink. _More drinking?! No, you do not need a strong drink, what you need is to get your drunken ass to bed._


End file.
